


The World-Serpent

by soprano_buddy15



Category: The Last Kingdom, The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Backstory, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Stick and poke, tattooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24612088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soprano_buddy15/pseuds/soprano_buddy15
Summary: Sihtric gets his first tattoo: Jörmungandr, the World-Serpent.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	The World-Serpent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Java_Blythe_Peralta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Java_Blythe_Peralta/gifts).



> Hello!
> 
> This was honestly one of my favourite fics to write. I rely on dialogue a lot, and so I really wanted to push myself and write a fic without much dialogue.
> 
> I love Norse mythology, and I wanted to explore why Sihtric has the world serpent on his head, and after some research (bless you, Wikipedia, and Rick Riordan, without whom I would probably be much more confused) I came up with this. 
> 
> Much love to my friend Java_Blythe_Peralta and how she loves Sihtric just as much as I do.
> 
> I loved writing this one, and I really hope you enjoy it! Constructive comments are always welcome! Just don’t be rude, because nobody wants that.

“Are you ready?”

Sihtric nodded, swallowing hard. Although the artist had placed down many furs, the ground was still hard and Sihtric struggled to make himself comfortable. The artist settled himself closer to Sihtric’s head, pushing his long hair away from the side of his head and brushing off any remaining strands of hair. Sihtric had hurriedly shaved and tied back his hair for today, but he could have taken a bit more care.

The artists picked up his tools, and Sihtric could not help but noticed the spiky thorn tied onto the edge of the branch, it’s point glistening with a dark ink. “Have you given thought as to what you want?” The artist was weary; Sihtric had made his decision late in the day to ask for a tattoo.

“Jörmungandr.” He said softly, and the artist froze for a moment. 

“Interesting choice.” That was all he said, but positioned his tools over Sihtric’s neck and began to work.

_Tap, tap, tap._

The pain was sharp, but Sihtric was a warrior. He could handle a small thorn. He clutched his mother’s crucifix tighter in his hand to keep from tensing his neck. 

_Tap, tap, tap._

He could tell that the artist was curious as to why this runt of a warrior was choosing the World-Serpent as his first tattoo. Most chose ravens, or their family crest as the one to start with. With every tap of the stick, Sihtric was reminded of the fact that he had no family. His mother was dead, his father mistreated him and he was only now beginning to be taught sword-skill by Tekil.

_Tap, tap, tap._

The artist had been working for a good amount of time now, and was starting to move up on Sihtric’s neck and behind his ear. The pain was increasing, but Sihtric breathed deeply to still the hurt. 

He could imagine the tail of the great serpent on his neck, imagine it thrashing around in the great ocean waters. 

_Tap, tap, tap._

Jörmungandr had always fascinated him, and would listen as closely as possible to the warriors telling tales of the great serpent and of Thor when he was tasked with cleaning the hall of Dunholm. Jörmungandr was a child of the Trickster Loki, and Sihtric would often imagine Loki was guiding him whenever he snuck around in the dark, searching for the herbs that would help his mother through her most recent pain. 

_Tap, tap, tap._

He knew he could never choose Loki’s other children for his tattoo. Hel ruled over the dishonoured dead, and he knew that his mother was worthy of Valhalla. He refused to believe that she would be taken by Hel, hoping and praying to the gods that she was feasting in Valhalla, or even in her Heaven. He shuddered when imagining the fearsome wolf Fenrir, and knew that he could not bear having it tattooed upon his skin for the rest of his life. It was too close to the hounds that took his mother. 

_Tap, tap, tap._

Sihtric winced as the artists started tattooing the hard flesh, where his skull protruded right behind his ear. This pain was intense, but Sihtric endured, knowing it was nothing compared to the pain his mother felt when Kjartan set his hounds upon her. It was nothing compared to the pain that Kjartan would feel when Sihtric would kill him. 

His tattoo of Jörmungandr would be a constant reminder for him. Remind him of how Jörmungandr was destined release his tail from his mouth at the start of Ragnarök and kill the mighty Thor with his venomous bite. It was almost poetic, how Jörmungandr would poison the god of thunder nearly the same way Sihtric’s mother had poisoned Kjartan. 

_Tap, tap, tap._

In a way, Sihtric realized, his mother was Jörmungandr. He knew that the World-Serpent was destined to die by the hands of Thor, but after poisoning the great god. His mother had been killed by Kjartan, and although Kjartan was still ruling Dunholm, Sihtric knew that the space between his mother dying and Kjartan being killed was the same as the nine paces Thor would take before dying. 

_Tap, tap, tap._

The artist was now over his ear, occasionally stopping to mop up the blood that came out when piercing the tender flesh of the skull. It rolled down the side of his head and across his cheek, almost like a tear. 

_Tap, tap, tap._

The torches were burning low, but still the artist kept working, somehow understanding that this was more than just a tattoo. Occasionally Danes would come and ask him questions for their next tattoo, but he would dismiss them and continue tapping away. 

_Tap, tap, tap._

It had been hours since he started, and Sihtric’s left side was more than numb. The artists tapped his tools once more, and then set down his tools. “Sleep on your left side,” he said. “Do not touch it with unclean things.” He held up a torch a bit closer, examining the pattern on Sihtric’s head. Sihtric felt the heat of the torch, but the artists hands were gentle as he turned Sihtric’s head side to side. “You’ll need to come back in a few days so I can finish some places.” He handed Sihtric a clean cloth and made him press it up against his head.

Sihtric fished out his coins, giving nearly all he had to the artist. He had saved up the few coins that Tekil occasionally threw to him, and when he left, his purse was much lighter. 

His hard pallet was waiting for him as he settled into the small room he was given. He shook out the furs that he rolled up every morning and prepared to sleep, trying to keep his cloth clean of the dirt and grime from the space. As he drifted off to sleep, the thought about what this tattoo meant. This tattoo was more than a reminder. It was a promise. A promise to his mother to complete what she had started. To walk the nine paces and kill the man who had killed her.


End file.
